#trans!rose

Rose is always surprised by how barren Jack’s room seems compared to her own. She tells herself it’s just a matter of time spent onboard the TARDIS, but she still pauses to frown at all the empty space. Even his bed is neatly made where her own remains in a constant state of disarray. The only reminders that he’s still living here at all are a spare t-shirt thrown over a chair and the sound of running water from the adjoining bathroom.

She makes her way over to him. She doesn’t knock, and didn’t when she entered in the first place, but she does call his name when she pokes her head in. “Jack?”

He turns back to acknowledge her, smiling beneath the beneath foamy wisps left of his shaving cream, though Rose is more distracted by his lack of a shirt and the dark hair spread down his chest that he hasn’t shaved. He leans against the sink, still dripping from where he’s been splashing himself clean, a straight razor held in place beneath his palm. “The Doctor sent you to fetch me?” he asks. Rose forces her eyes back up to his face, which Jack notices. It only makes his grin wilder as he angles himself to give her a better view. At that, Rose has to look away entirely, torn between laughing at his familiar confidence and flushing hot from head to toe. 

“Something like that. You were running late. He notices.” Sometimes it feels like the Doctor has Rose’s morning routine better memorized than she does. He might fail to pick up on when she’s upset if it’s right in front of his face, but never if it makes her miss her usual breakfast. There’s a subtle pull at Jack’s mouth when she’s done speaking, a brief pinch around his eyes, gone by the time he’s turning to the sink to finish shaving. 

“I had… a long night. Slept through my alarm. I’m almost done here.” The pause makes Rose want to push him for more, and she would if she knew where to start. It’s only a matter of time. No matter how good he is at hiding his secrets, he can’t stop himself from inviting them in to look for them. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t want Rose and the Doctor to know eventually, but whenever that might be isn’t today, so Rose is left searching for something else to say.

“He also said to ask what your opinion on sea monsters is,” she falls back on. Despite avoiding the earlier subject, nothing about Jack comes off as defensive. He hums a simple note as he washes shaving cream off the razor and asks,

“With or without tentacles?” Rose blinks. 

“Is that important?” she asks.

“Incredibly,” he answers. She watches the slow, practiced glide of the razor against the side of his chin, catching a few final hairs. He tilts his head slightly to get the angle right, showing off the curve of his neck to her. When Rose meets his eyes again through the bathroom mirror as he relaxes, he says, “Enjoying the show?”

“You like having an audience.” Jack leans down to cup his hands in the stream of water and splash his face. The razor rests at his side, the edge still foamy with cream and short, dark hairs. He pats himself dry with a towel, drops it against the sink, and then reaches out a hand towards her. Rose takes it without hesitation, stepping closer. Jack brings it up to the side of his face, resting her fingers against freshly shaven skin to feel the difference. Rose trails them down along his jaw and up again until she can cup his cheek in her palm. Jack’s eyes shut as he leans into her hand, relaxed and happy. In a week, maybe less, she knows she’ll be able to feel the rough beginnings of new stubble on his face. Something twinges in her chest as she thinks about watching that happen while she stays exactly the same. She frowns, not sure why that would even bother her.

She lets the expression fall away before Jack’s eyes open again. “Do I have to tell you you’re gorgeous? You seem to know already,” she teases. Jack nudges against her hand again playfully before she withdraws it.

“Never hurts,” he says. “Especially now that you’ve seen all the work I put in to stay that way. Unlike our Doctor.” Rose’s heart flutters with the ease with which Jack says ‘our’. “Do we even know if he ever shaves, or do you think he tells his chin hairs off sternly and they fall out in shame?”

“Sonics them away, I reckon,” Rose says, nodding as she lets her hand drop. The motion brings her gaze down to Jack’s chest again, and the speed at which she snaps her eyes back up to his makes her peeking even more obvious that last time. She can just feel Jack about to tease her about it, so she says the first thing that comes to mind to cut him off. “What does it feel like, anyway?” 

“What?” he says, and she can hear the barely restrained flirtation just behind the words, held back to answer her question. “Shaving?” 

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never shaved anything before?” He sounds skeptical. 

“Of course I’ve- That’s different!” Funnily enough, she can’t remember the last time she bothered to, either. No one around to remind her, she supposes. No wonder her legs have felt warmer under her skirts. She resolves to wear something long the next time she visits her mom. If she can’t see anything, she can’t say anything, and Rose can carry on exactly as she is. “I didn’t use shaving cream for my legs.”

“You should,” he says, casually. “You might need more to cover it, but it makes the whole process a lot faster. Less nicks, much more smooth, really prepares you for showing off in fishnets.” Before Rose has a minute to put together the pieces on him knowing all of that, Jack is reaching for his can of shaving cream. “Hold out your hand.”

When Rose does, he gives the can a light shake and spurts some cream onto her hand. The white foam spills messily across her palm from the nozzle. 

“Don’t-” she starts.

“There’s more where that came from,” Jack says, suggestive, completely ignoring her. Rose rolls her eyes. She squishes her fingers through the foam. “Well? How does it feel?” 

“Cold,” she answers. “Soft? A little like lotion.”  The consistency is the same, at least. It feels nice against her skin. Jack’s watching her, thinking. 

She’s still playing with the cream when she hears the water run again. Jack’s wetting the same towel he used to dry his face earlier. He turns back to her, fingers nudging her chin up. “Hold still,” he says. “I don’t want to get your shirt wet.” He dab at the lower half of her face with the warm washcloth. “Not that I’d complain, but I make a habit of only ruining other people’s clothes when they ask for it.” He motions her around with little taps against her jaw, and she follows, making it easier for him to dampen her skin with the hot water. “Which you still could. I’m not giving up hope yet.” He takes her hand in his own, palm up, and scrubs the shaving cream off of it for her before he puts the towel down.

“What are you doing?” Rose asks, though it’s obvious. She thinks she just wants him to say it for her, confirm this isn’t some kind of joke. 

(But even if she didn’t know, she’d still let him. She’s in safe hands with Jack. Very few people have ever made her feel that way.)

“You said you wanted to know what it was like.” He picks up the shaving cream can again. She sees him weigh it in his hand like he’s trying to estimate how much is inside before he shakes it again. He pauses just long enough for her to step out of reach if she wanted to, and when she doesn’t, he puts his hand beneath her chin again. It’s more sure now. He guides her with his thumb solid against her jaw, turning her head slowly to make sure he covers her face with the cream. It tickles more than it did on her hand, and Rose bites her lip to keep from giggling.

“I don’t have anything to shave,” Rose protests, a little late. Her chin and cheeks feel chilled by the shaving cream, but not unpleasantly. There are streaks of it on Jack’s hand as he draws back again. 

“I’m using my imagination,” Jack tells her. He washes his razor off for her, turning it this way and that beneath the sink before examining it to make sure nothing is sticking behind from its last use. It looks well-sharpened, but even when Jack rests it against her cheek for the first time, Rose can’t feel scared. There’s far too much focus in his eyes, even more so than when he was shaving his own face earlier. Very slowly, he scrapes a little of the shaving cream off her cheek. The razor slides against her skin, warm from the water it was under, contrasting against the cream and leaving the space behind it exposed again. “Breathe, Rose,” Jack tells her. She inhales, not realizing she’d stopped until he points it out. 

The next glide of the razor moves in time with her exhale as she holds as still as she can for him. His other hand has found its place beneath his chin again, keeping her steady. When all she can do is memorize the feeling of him touching her, she notices the little differences between him and the Doctor, that the Doctor’s fingers are slightly longer, that Jack’s thumb has more of a callous along the inside of it. The razor moves easily through the shaving cream, and she can see Jack begin to relax the longer it goes without incident, as though he needs more reassurance than she does that he won’t mess up and nick her.

“Smoothest shave I’ve ever given anyone,” he jokes, but his voice is low and warm. Rose swallows. 

Did he mean before that he was imagining her with… with what? Surely not a full beard, not unless he wanted to laugh at her… right? No. Maybe- Well, maybe he wasn’t imagining anything at all, from how concentrated he was.

Or maybe he was seeing her in his mind’s eye with a lazy week’s stubble, gently shaving it off for her. Did he imagine how it felt beneath his hands before when he was preparing her? Was he imagining it now as he rubbed his thumb along the bottom of her jaw? Would he like that, a little scratch of growing hair that she was letting him take care of? Rose’s could hear her own breaths from between her parted lips catching with the thought of all of it. 

Would she like that?

“You alright, Rose?” Jack’s voice pulls her out of her own thoughts before she can scare herself. Scare herself? Is she scared? Her heart is beating faster, but she can’t tell if it’s fear or something else. 

“Fine,” she answers, lying poorly. Jack pauses, and she feels his thumb rub against her jaw again. She focuses on that. 

Safe in Jack’s hands, wherever he’s taking her. 

“I’m okay,” she says, and this time, it’s true. Jack still waits for her to pout and say, “Get back to work, Jack.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack says, a professional snap to the words like a verbal salute that makes Rose bite her lip again. The razor comes back, continuing its journey across her face and smoothing away the shaving cream. 

A few more drags in silence follow before a lopsided grin climbs onto Jack’s face.

“Found one.”

“One what?”

“One little brown hair,” Jack says. He flips the razor for her to see, and it really is the tiniest hair floating in the shaving cream on the blade. Rose stares at it. 

She feels strangely proud that it exists. Even stranger, a little sad that Jack’s shaved it off. 

It’ll grow back, she finds herself thinking.

“Blow on it,” he says. “Make a wish.”

“You’re thinking of eyelashes.” 

“I don’t think the wish will care that much which hair it came from.” She indulges him. She blows a few white drops of shaving cream back onto Jack’s chest. Without thinking, she reaches forward to wipe them off with her thumb. She freezes when she touches him, but it’s far too late to back out now. She brushes her thumb across each speck, following them down along his chest to the last one low against his ribs. Her fingers run over his chest hair as she does. It’s a fight both to make herself not react to that or to go back and explore a little more. Her cheeks are burning, and there isn’t nearly enough shaving cream left to hide it.

“You really didn’t need an excuse if you wanted to feel me up,” Jack says, and he sounds delighted. She almost pulls her hand back, but she stops herself. After all, he started it.

“Then I’m not going to bother with one.” With that, she resolutely slides her hand back up his chest. She feels it rise and fall slightly as he breathes, shift as he moves his arm again to continue shaving her. She curls her fingers to feel his hair move against them, the thick dark patch at the center spreading thinner across his chest. It’s soft. 

No wonder he doesn’t shave it. She’s jealous.

Jealous of what? It’s not like she can’t get her fill of him. Jack will happily let her. 

She tries to shake off the feeling and can’t quite. 

“Do you ever wish you were someone else?” He wipes some spare shaving cream off of her cheek. He’s almost done. Not that there will be much of a difference to show it, Rose thinks. She frowns. 

“In what way?” he asks. “Am I swapping places with someone, or am I turning into someone else?” She wonders how much his answer would change depending on which she chose, but in the end, she can’t pick both.

“The second one. I think.” Her frown deepens. “Sorry. I’m not sure what I’m asking. I’m confusing myself now.”

Jack takes her hand from his chest and lifts it to his mouth, absently kissing her knuckles before he answers. She’s not even sure he registered that he did it, too focused on the razor in his other hand and her question. 

“I like being me,” he says, honestly. “Wasn’t easy to get here, so I think I’ll keep it.” Rose withdraws her hand, touching the spot his lips brushed. “What about you?”

Rose feels the razor make its last pass over her face. Jack lifts it away. Not a single scratch on her. Not a spot of irritation where he wasn’t careful enough. Rose lifts her fingers to her cheek and finds the skin there as smooth as ever. 

“Yeah,” she answers, and she realizes she’s lying. “Who else would I even be?”

Jack passes over her face once more with the warm rag to get the last of the shaving cream off of her. He has to get another to dry her with. Rose enjoys the pampering.

“How about a Rose Tyler who’s been thoroughly kissed?” She turns her head up to let him. Jack’s arms wrap around her back. “Among other things,” he murmurs when he’s done.

“I’d like that.” Jack makes himself easy to get lost in, and right now, Rose wants that. It’s easier than… She’s not sure, but whatever it is, she’d rather be kissing him than facing it. And if Jack’s hands slide down to her waist and lower still, she’s not complaining.

She’s forgotten why she’d come in his room in the first place completely until the Doctor—who knocks as much as Rose did, which is to say, not at all—comes complaining. “Rose, you left thirty minutes ago, what are you-” He cuts himself off, and Rose drops her head against Jack’s shoulder to stifle a laugh. She doesn’t even have to look at the Doctor to picture his expression, rolling his eyes, annoyed that they could possibly think making out against a bathroom sink is a better use of time than what he has planned. Jack’s skin is warm, and they both unmistakably smell like his brand of shaving cream. She rubs her face against him.

“Just finishing up, Doctor,” Jack shoots back. She presses another giggle into his shoulder imagining the way the Doctor’s face must be screwing up in feigned disgust. She manages to get herself under control enough to lift her head and face him.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“About what?” the Doctor says. 

“Rose came in for a shave,” Jack answers. He strokes her chin playfully. “How’s she look, Doctor?”

The Doctor looks her over, once a cursory glance, twice a real study. Rose is curious what exactly he’s seeing. It’s not like she’d had anything to shave. It’s not like anything had really changed, had it?

But the Doctor gives her one of those lovely, genuine smiles, and says, “Most handsome boy in town, I’d say.” Rose’s heart skips a beat, but she tells herself that’s nothing special. The Doctor can always make her feel that way.

She wouldn’t mind him calling her handsome again.

(She wouldn’t mind him calling her a-)

“And me?” Jack wheedles for his own compliment. 

The Doctor lets his smile drop, showily unimpressed as he responds, “You missed a spot.” Jack shakes his head, disbelieving until he reaches up to touch the place the Doctor’s indicating on his own neck and finds a small spread of missed hair right there.

“We’ll wait for you,” Rose tells him, though the Doctor huffs about it and makes a face. He won’t go without her, and she won’t go without Jack, and somehow, they’ll make it work. 

Jack waves her off to follow the Doctor back to the console room.

(“Doctor, settle a bet? Do you shave normally, or do you…”

“Rose, I know you’re not asking me if I can sonic a beard off.”

“Course not. I knew that.”)

"Hi! I'm Rose! I saw you sittin' here alone and I wanted to know if you were okay but it looks like you are but I just wanted to make sure because you looked alonely," she said in one large rush. She took a deep breath and started again, "I'm okay and my Mamans are over at a new bakery to get some lunch for us, and I can share mine with you if you wanted!"

It took several minutes of rambling for Rose to realize Juleka wasn't responding, only staring. Her smile faltered just a bit. "Where's your parents?"

Finally given enough time to respond, Juleka murmured, "I lost 'em."

Rose gasped at that. She flew to her feet, and was surprisingly still tiny, although the manic energy that surrounded her made her seem bigger. "How do they look?"

Juleka shrugged hopelessly. She wasn't that great at describing people. "I guess Maman looks like me but tall. Papa has a smile that makes things okay."

"Okay! Don't worry, we'll find them!" Rose grabbed onto Juleka's hand and tugged until she stood up too. Squeezing her hand tight, Rose exclaimed, "Let's go!"

Even with Juleka's protests, the two ended up walking around the park, and while they initially searched for Juleka's parents, they ended up chasing butterflies and giggling. Rose's laughter became even sweeter when the other girl joined in.

"So," Rose said through her giggles, "You didn't gimme your name!"

"Oh... It's Juleka, but, um... Maman calls me Jules," she replied, cheeks flushed pink as her laughter teetered out.

"That's so pretty," Rose sighed. "Just like you! You're like a princess. I wish I could be a princess like you." She made a face. "A boy at school says boys can't be princesses, though. But I want to be a girl!"

"Then you are one! A girl and a princess!" Juleka blurted out. Her new friend beamed at her, and they continued to play until Rose paused, staring at a couple not so far from them.

"Hey, is that your parents?" she asked, pointing to them.

"Y-yes!" Unaware of her hand still holding onto Rose's, Juleka walked over to her parents. "Maman, Papa!" As soon as the names flew from her lips, her parents turned, relief clear on their faces and they moved to embrace her.

"Oh, Jules, Jules, Jules," her mother murmured. "You can't just walk away like that, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Maman."

"It's okay, it's- Oh. Who's your little friend?"

Juleka looked over at Rose, who was waving enthusiastically. "That's my princess, Rose!"

"I see. And where is Princess Rose's Maman or Papa?"

No sooner did the words leave her mouth that two more voices came up, both calling for Rose.

"Maman, Maman!" she shouted in greeting to both of her mothers. "This is Jules and she's a princess!"

Her parents fretted over her until they were content that she was okay and then proceeded to talk with Juleka's parents. While the adults talked, the two young girls continued their play until it was time they parted ways.

Rose tries to sit up too fast. His whole world goes blurry and askew until he feels the Doctor’s hands pressing him back into bed.

“Surgery is surgery, Rose, no matter what century the equipment is from.” He might not have kept his name if not for the way the Doctor says it, like Rose is the most wonderful man in the universe. “Rest. Thirsty?”

Rose doesn’t answer. He touches his chest, does it again to make sure it’s real.

“Sonicced ‘em off, then?” 

“I didn’t sonic-“ The Doctor cuts himself off, grinning. “You look incredible, you know.”

He does.